Suspicions
by Lightish Red
Summary: An assassination attempt on Mazarin starts a chain of events leading to d'Artagnan's imprisonment, Ramon's family reunion, Siroc's past revealed, and the truth about Jacqueline's cross. Based on the characters from PAXi's Young Blades television series.
1. Close Calls

**1. Close Calls**

A masked man drifted down a palace hall, methodically checking for guards at each turn. His full faced mask and long black cloak fully disguised him; only his dark hair pulled back into a horse tail gave any hint to his identity.

Seemingly arriving at his destination, he shrunk back into the shadows of the corridor. One Cardinal's guard stood between him and the door. Silently, he pulled an ornate but delicate looking rapier from its sheath. In two strides he had crossed the distance to the door and dispatched the lone guard with one easy thrust. The intruder slowly and gently lowered the dead man to the floor.

He exchanged the rapier for a small, plain dagger, concealed in a gloved hand. He opened the door, unhurriedly revealing the empty antechamber beyond. Passing through, he listened at the second door. In one swift motion, he kicked the it open.

Cardinal Mazarin looked up from his work table in barely concealed surprise. He had shed his rich Cardinal robes for a flowing white shirt and vest so he would be comfortable for a long night of work. "What are you doing here? I gave orders for no visitors."

The man grinned under his mask and threw the dagger. As he brought his arm forward, however, a guard burst out from behind the door, throwing his body into the assassin. The knife flew wide, grazing Mazarin's shoulder and falling with a clang on the floor behind his desk.

The masked man spun and shoved the red-clad guard back. As the Cardinal's man recovered from the sudden attack, the assassin escaped out a conveniently open window into the gardens. The guard yelled out into the hall, "Search the gardens and arrest any man you find!" He then ran to the side of his Cardinal. "Sir, are you injured?"

Mazarin gripped his shoulder, blood visible spreading through the white fabric like wine spilled on table linen. "Yes, you fool! Find that man or I'll have your head!" he roared at his new Captain of the Guards.

The man recoiled at the threat, but managed to steady himself to ask, "Do you know who he is, sir?"

Mazarin looked out the open window where the shouts of searching guards could be heard. "I have my suspicions."

----------

"Why didn't you just ask that man for directions?"

"Because I'm not lost," d'Artagnan growled for the tenth time in the past hour. "Paris will be in sight at the crest of this hill." He gestured forward, eyed his comrade defiantly, and kicked his horse into a canter.

Jacqueline met him at the top only two strides behind, just in time to see the look of disbelief on his face when d'Artagnan saw the empty valley below.

"You know what? I knew it! I told you to go right, and you go left. I ask you to get directions; you refuse. Now we are fully lost in the forest you said you knew like the back of your hand, and it's getting too dark to do anything!" Jacqueline's mare pranced nervously underneath her, spooked at the outburst.

D'Artagnan shrugged off the tirade, amused by the sudden anger from his usually restrained friend. "We can camp out tonight and find our way tomorrow. It's not exactly the crisis situation you imagine." He led the way down the ridge to a clearing he had spotted. Jacqueline had no choice but to follow her patrol partner but let her displeasure known with an annoyed snort.

D'Artagnan turned back, grin on his face as he drawled, "Besides, I'm sure we can find _something_ to do in the dark."

----------

Jacqueline and d'Artagnan found their way back to the garrison by mid-morning the next day. Captain Duval caught them in the stables unloading saddlebags from their tired mounts.

"Where have you two been?" Duval asked roughly.

D'Artagnan and Jacqueline exchanged an anxious glance before d'Artagnan replied, "We had evening patrol last night, sir. We lost track of time and had to wait until morning to find our way back. Is something wrong?"

"Come with me." He led the way down the empty garrison halls; most Musketeers would be out on duty or spending free time in the city. Jacqueline looked back at d'Artagnan with worried eyes, and he dared to reach out to press her hand reassuringly for a split second. If this was the end of Jacqueline's secret, he would not let her go down alone.

Duval brought them to his office where Siroc and Ramon were waiting. Siroc closed the door behind the three, and the four Musketeers lined up, d'Artagnan hovering protectively at Jacqueline's side. "Men, there was an attempt on Mazarin's life last night," the Captain began. Jacqueline let out the breath she did not know she had been holding. D'Artagnan and Siroc relaxed a little as well.

"Sir, isn't that a concern of the Cardinal's Guards? It would seem that it was a person on our side," d'Artagnan probed.

"First of all," Duval stated, pacing in front of his Musketeers, "no matter what our personal feelings might be as to the Cardinal, there was an assassin that managed to get into the palace undetected. This man may be just as dangerous to the King.

"Second, it became our concern when you, d'Artagnan, were missing all last night; Mazarin has got it in his head that you were the assassin."

D'Artagnan opened his mouth to defend himself when Jacqueline beat him to it, "Captain, I was with him all night. We were in the forest outside Paris; there is no possible way he could have done it."

"Well then it's just rotten luck that you were outside the garrison on the night it happened," Duval growled.

"Sir," Siroc broke in, "could it be possible that someone is trying to frame d'Artagnan, someone who could find out when he would be out with only one witness, his friend Jacques, to account for his whereabouts?"

"Sounds a little farfetched for me," Ramon interjected. "Only a Musketeer could know that, and none of us would attempt a renegade mission like this."

"But it is a possibility," Duval said. He stopped pacing and faced d'Artagnan. "Until we can find out who this would-be assassin really is, you must stay in the company of Musketeers at all times. For good measure, stay near the garrison as well. You are relieved of active duty."

"But this is ridiculous; I don't need a guard force! And I wouldn't murder in cold blood!" d'Artagnan finally said for himself.

"That is an order, Musketeer!" Duval roared. "I need to look into some things. Dismissed!"

The four filed out without a word, Ramon and Siroc going towards the laboratory. D'Artagnan practically shook with rage; he stalked off to the practice court, presumably to find an unfortunate sparring partner to release some steam. Jacqueline hesitated for a moment, debating who to follow. She chose the third route that led to her room.


	2. What Comes With A Dress

**2. What Comes With A Dress**

That night Jacqueline was walking the streets of Paris. She was clad in a simple blue dress that she had kept hidden in her room and even donned a blonde wig underneath her grey hooded cloak. It was dangerous to be walking in the city at all with the wanted posters still up, but she needed to take a break from being a man, even if it was only for an hour.

The streets were deserted until she turned the corner. Senses dulled by her inward thinking, she did not see the blonde man until he grabbed her around the waist, drawing her back into the shadows and shoving her up against a wall. His hot breath blew on her neck as he mumbled, pressing her with his whole body. "What do we have here? It must be my lucky day."

Jacqueline broke out of her shock into action. "Your luck seems to have deceived you," she whispered seductively. She worked a knee up to hit him in a sensitive spot. He roared and hit her face, fist contacting eye. Her arms were freed as he doubled over with a well aimed kick, and she shoved him back. With another knee to his stomach to finish him, she pulled up her skirts and ran. The only thought in her mind was getting back to where she had stashed her uniform and weapons. She rounded a corner and collided with another lone man. He fell backwards, dragging Jacqueline to land on top of him.

"Mademoiselle, are you alright?" he struggled to get up while trying to help her at the same time.

Jacqueline jumped away in astonishment and asked, "D'Artagnan?"

He recognized her voice as well. "Jacqueline?" He looked her up and down. "What are you doing out here? Why are you dressed like…" He fingered a lock of her blonde wig and then noticed her swelling, red eye.

She knocked his hand away, looked down to hide her face and adjusted the wig that had gone askew. "Nothing. I should be asking why you are out here; Captain Duval gave you a direct order."

"What happened to your eye?" d'Artagnan gently tilted her chin up to bring it into the faint light.

"A scuffle with someone is all," Jacqueline told him airily. "I was on my way back. Will you come with me?" Despite her tough talk, the encounter had shaken her.

Surprise crossed his face, but d'Artagnan managed to nod and offer his arm. Wordlessly she took it and led him to where she had left her clothes. Jacqueline insistently sent him back ahead of her despite his reluctance.

"I'll be a man again and a Musketeer, too. Don't worry," she assured him.

D'Artagnan hesitated and looked at her one last time. "I could never see you as a man again." He spun on his heel and walked purposefully away.

* * *

Jacqueline found her way to her room through the empty back halls of the Musketeer barracks by the light of the moon streaming through the narrow windows. She had taken a raw steak from the garrison kitchens to soothe her sore eye.

Locking the door securely behind her, she laid the cloth wrapped steak on her side table and packed her dress and wig back into her trunk. Jacqueline then poured out water to scrub her face, gently around her bruised eye but harshly on her chin to remove the adhesive that held the faux hair on her chin.

As she patted her clean face dry, she took note of her shaking hands. She rubbed them brusquely on her arms—a Musketeer did not tremble! The calluses from years of farm work and months of intense swordplay were rough on her skin. "No matter how much you pretend, you could never be a lady," she reminded herself, her one good eye lingering on the locked chest of clothes reflected in her mirror.

* * *

D'Artagnan was pulling off his shirt to go to bed when a knock sounded on his door, and it opened before he could even reply. "Jacqueline!" he exclaimed, standing up, surprised at her late night visit.

"Shhhh!" she reprimanded in a hushed tone. "I have to ask you something important and I don't want the whole garrison to come running."

"Of course… sit down." He gestured to the bed, and Jacqueline sat gingerly on the edge. He sunk down beside her.

She struggled to make out words and finally blurted out, "Could you put a shirt on or something?"

"Yes, right," he replied, jumping up to slide his shirt back on. He slid back over to the bed and reclaimed his seat nodding for her to continue.

"D'Artagnan, I need something," she said bluntly.

"What is it?" he said hastily as he sat next to her. "You know you can ask anything of me and I'd do it. I promised your brother. And I want to."

"I know, and thank you for that. Do you still have that fake diamond?" Jacqueline asked in a soft tone.

D'Artagnan was caught so off guard that he could not process the question right away. "The one that Princess Tatiana gave you?" her voice intruded on his thoughts.

He managed to focus back on her face. "Yes, I do. Why do you want to know?"

"Could I have it?" Jacqueline asked sweetly.

D'Artagnan narrowed his eyes. "Why?"

Jacqueline frowned, and her face darkened. "I just need it, alright? Yes or no?"

"Sure," he acquiesced easily. He searched through an inside pocket of his jacket hung on the chair next to him and pulled out an embroidered handkerchief. He unwrapped it slowly, revealing the tiny quartzite stone inside. "Here, it's all yours."

She picked it up delicately with two fingers and smirked. "Do you always carry spare jewels on you?"

"You never know when a deserving lady will come along," he drawled, folding the handkerchief and tucking it back into its compartment.

Jacqueline's expression softened. "Thank you," her smile was sincere as she continued, "for calling me a lady." She rose to leave.

D'Artagnan jumped up after her. "Wait! Don't go yet."

Jacqueline paused facing the door, taking a deep breath before facing him. "Okay, d'Artagnan, just because I came up to your room and you gave me a shiny rock doesn't mean—"

"No! That's not what I meant… I just want to talk." He gave an innocent grin, his eyebrows raised pleadingly.

Hesitating a moment, Jacqueline replied, "I can talk." She retraced her steps and sat on the bed again. "What did you have in mind?"

"How's your eye?" he fumbled.

Jacqueline touched her swollen face self-consciously. "It will heal."

D'Artagnan gathered his strength and took up the guarded position he used when interrogating prisoners. "Why don't we talk about with the reason you were out alone late at night in a dress?"

Jacqueline's face fell with each word. "Shhh! Do you want the whole garrison to hear?" She looked around nervously. "Besides, I could ask you the same question." She locked on his face with an accusatory glare. "Well, except for the dress part." Both Musketeers shook off the mental image.

"I had a… rendezvous," he stammered. "You know I don't break my promises."

"Your promises to a pretty woman, you mean," Jacqueline snorted and rose to her feet. "Maybe I was at a 'rendezvous,' too. What do you think of that, lover boy?" She stabbed his chest with an angry forefinger.

D'Artagnan stared at her hard. "You don't mean that."

"Oh, yes I do. Now, I'm tired, and I'm sure you need your beauty sleep," Jacqueline turned to open the door. It refused to budge. "Why won't this open?" she asked without looking at him.

"It gets jammed." Taking his time, d'Artagnan shook the obstinate door loose and opened it for her with a mock bow, staring straight over her head with clenched jaw. Jacqueline passed him, chin in air, with only a sniff for thanks.


	3. Two Fights

**3. Two Fights**

The next morning found the four Musketeers sitting at their customary table in the Café Nouveau for a morning coffee and croissant. D'Artagnan and Ramon were joking as usual while Siroc listened with amusement plain on his face. Jacqueline tried to look interested, but she was obviously preoccupied, dissecting her breakfast and prodding her black eye with fidgeting fingers. D'Artagnan and Jacqueline acted as though nothing unusual had happened between them last night.

"… So that's why I came back late last night. Women just like the mysterious, tall, dark, and handsome type, I guess; the poetry with a Spanish accent really gets them," Ramon gushed unashamedly about his evening as he winked at an admiring waitress.

D'Artagnan wore his roguish grin as he said, "Women can be so easy to see through; right, Jacques?" He elbowed her roughly.

"Yeah, sure," she replied absentmindedly, staring intently at a man by the door. He leaned over the counter to talk to a friendly barmaid. After receiving his cup of coffee, he picked his way over towards the Musketeer's table. Jacqueline paled as the blonde man came closer, and she hid her face as he passed by. D'Artagnan followed the man with lowered eyes and looked at Jacqueline questioningly.

She sneaked a glance back to make sure he was not looking her way before excusing herself. "I've got to go do something. Duval asked me to yesterday." Jacqueline ran out of the café with the speed of a frightened deer. D'Artagnan frowned at her back and exchanged shrugs with Siroc and Ramon. His gaze lingered on the door for another moment before a red uniform appeared directly in front of him.

He looked up to see the smirking face of a Cardinal's guard. Standing to meet the man eye to eye, he saw that he had been surrounded by ten or more red clad soldiers. "You are under arrest for the attempted murder of the Honorable Cardinal Mazarin."

"Honorable?" d'Artagnan asked, swinging around to see all of the men. "Ten against three doesn't seem like a fair fight to me."

"We had to take into account your reputation for… evading capture," he replied mockingly. "Will you come willingly?" Ramon and Siroc stood and all three Musketeers drew their rapiers. The café cleared out quickly with the threat of a fight, and three more Musketeers turned from their tables to join their comrades, blades drawn.

"I didn't think so," the Cardinal's man admitted, motioning his guards to follow him in drawing against the Musketeers. He made the first move, cutting in sideways at d'Artagnan.

At that moment, all the other fighters began their battle. Siroc and Ramon flipped over their table to knock two reds to the floor. Another two Musketeers fought back to back, dispatching one guard, then another. Two more Cardinal's guards came to take their fallen comrades' place.

A guard on the floor endeavored to trip Ramon who jumped up on a chair to avoid the swinging table leg and slashed the man's arm with the tip of his blade. He leaped off to body slam a guard who had locked blades with Siroc. Ramon caught the man's neck in his arm and slammed his head on a table before letting him drop to the ground. He looked up as a bullet flew past his head from Siroc's pistol to stop a guard charging him from behind. "Thanks, mi amigo!" They turned together to face another Cardinal underling.

At the bar, a mustached Musketeer was hurling bottles at a guard who was very apt at dodging them. The grey fighter dropped behind the bar once more. The red man crept forward slowly and was surprised by a basket of rolls thrown into his face. A bottle of red wine broke over his head as a bold barmaid snuck up behind him. "It wasn't a good year," she said sheepishly; the surprised Musketeer saluted her with a flourish.

Meanwhile, d'Artagnan and the Cardinal's lieutenant continued their intense duel. They appeared equally matched, and neither could gain an upper hand. Behind them, the Musketeers were cornering the three guards left standing. The Cardinal supporters dropped their weapons, outnumbered two to one.

With a wild lunge, d'Artagnan knocked the lieutenant's blade out of his hand. The man swallowed hard when d'Artagnan rested the tip of his blade at his throat. "This changes nothing," he croaked. "We will arrest you in due time."

"I suggest you carry out your wounded before they stain the floor," d'Artagnan spat at him. "I'd hate for the lovely ladies here to have to clean up this scum." D'Artagnan lowered his rapier and motioned for the other Musketeers to follow suit. With one last glare he led them out of the café, leaving the Cardinal's guards to drag their wounded out.

* * *

"…And I don't want to see you starting fights in the middle of the café anymore!" Duval roared at the six Musketeers lined up at attention in his office. "Leave," he waved them off and walked behind his desk, "except you, d'Artagnan."

D'Artagnan spun back around to face his captain. Ramon patted his friend's shoulder as he filed out behind the others. Siroc closed the door quietly behind him.

"Sir, we had no choice. I couldn't let them arrest me for something I didn't do! Mazarin would have—"

"I am perfectly aware of what Mazarin would do with you in his grasp," Duval growled taking a seat behind his desk. "I just can't let the men go Guard hunting. The balance of power is very delicate now; Mazarin has all the ammunition he needs to disband the Musketeers. If he manages to convince Louis that you were responsible… I just don't know if I could stop him." He looked up at d'Artagnan seriously. "I'm afraid that you are confined to the garrison until this assassin is caught and your name is cleared."

"Sir, that is unreasonable! That could take months—or what if we never catch him? I can't hide in here forever," d'Artagnan protested.

"Well then, private, you'd better pray that we find him soon," Duval told him matter-of-factly. It was obviously a dismissal, and d'Artagnan left seething, teeth clenched.


	4. Plots

**4. Plots**

Jacqueline walked through the open door of Siroc's laboratory. Ramon, sitting on the edge of the worktable, saw her first. "Hey, Jacques, where'd you go? You missed one great fight. See, ten Cardinal's guards showed up at the café and—"

"Sorry I wasn't there," she cut in, and Siroc looked up from his notebook in interest at her lack of concern. "Do you know where I could find d'Artagnan?"

"He's with the Captain," Siroc answered. "Did you need something?" He moved closer to her and perched on the edge of the table that Ramon had vacated.

"Just to find—d'Artagnan!" she exclaimed as he entered the room, fuming.

D'Artagnan slammed his fist against the wooden door. "The Captain has me under house arrest; I cannot set foot outside the garrison until this damned assassin is caught!" he replied to their inquiring looks.

"It was necessary," Siroc broke the silence, logical and concise as always.

Ramon gave a low whistle. "That's going to hurt your social life. I guess Jacques and I will have to pick up the slack. Eh, mi amigo?"

"Jacques?" d'Artagnan saw his friend for the first time.

Jacqueline cleared her throat to assume her deep voice. "Erm, yes. D'Artagnan, could I speak with you? Privately," she said pointedly.

He was slow to respond as the past night flashed through his mind once more. "Ah, yes, of course. We could go to my room," he suggested. Jacqueline nodded and followed him out under the uncomfortable gaze of Siroc.

* * *

D'Artagnan gracefully opened the door and allowed Jacqueline to enter first. She did not sit down this time, rather choosing to stand and meet him man to man. He faced her, as unyielding as he had ever been.

Jacqueline positioned herself less than a foot away from him for full effect. "I want to apologize for what I said last night. It was out of line, and I'm sorry. I could not stand to lose my closest friend over something so stupid." She looked up expectantly.

"I accept your apology," he said simply, studying her strangely with a furrowed brow.

They stood in silence, faces close together. Jacqueline squirmed after a minute, whispering harshly, "Is that it? After all that, you have nothing to say! God, you're infuriating!" She threw up her hands in exasperation.

"What do you want me to say? What is it about me that irritates you, Jacqueline? Tell me." He gripped her arm.

"D'Artagnan, no! I will not talk to you like this," she shook off his touch and gave him the cold shoulder.

"Why? Be honest for once in your life, Jacqueline, and say what about me bothers you, and I'll tell you what I don't like about you," he challenged.

Jacqueline sniffed heatedly, "You don't like things about me?" Slight offence and much curiosity were apparent in her voice. "Like what?"

"Like the way you do that deep cough whenever you accidentally slip into your normal voice, and how you walk funny, not like a man or a woman. You are always hitting me whenever I say something totally innocent, and then you tell me that I fight too much. Sometimes you stare in the mirror forever adjusting your hair when I just want to eat breakfast, but I never say anything. You also do these little feminine things like brushing off a chair before you sit down or wiping your mouth with a napkin when there is nothing on it. Good God, can't you just be a little messy for once? And how you sit down and cross your legs sometimes when we're alone—it's not very ladylike…" He trailed off, realizing that he was openly criticizing.

Jacqueline gaped at him throughout his little speech, rocking back and forth on her heels with irritation. "Well in case you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly trying for ladylike behavior right now," she huffed, taken aback. "Besides, a _gentleman_ shouldn't concern himself with a lady's legs." Jacqueline shot him a look of malice.

"I thought you _weren't_ being a lady. Should I treat you like one or not?" he asked back.

"Well, I… I don't like this game," Jacqueline announced, crossing her arms on her chest.

"Why don't you try it? It's oddly liberating," d'Artagnan dared her to fight back.

"Fine!" She uncrossed her arms and marched up to look straight into his eyes. "You're an arrogant, cocky, egotistical, womanizing pig who is annoyingly _noble_! You have to fight every man you see and disgrace every woman you meet. You never share your true emotions because you have no feelings. There! Are you happy now?" Jacqueline had no sympathy for the hurt look on his face. "I came to apologize, and now you've made it even worse."

"I didn't know…" he whispered looking at her wide-eyed.

"Now you do." She let herself out, slamming the door in her wake.

D'Artagnan shook his head. He punched the door for added effect and rested his forehead against it as he tried to control his breathing.

"That was so touching," a Spanish accent drawled at d'Artagnan's back. The Musketeer tensed and glanced sideways at the chair where his rapier rested. With the swiftness of lightning, he had lunged sideways to draw the blade and face his enemy.

* * *

Cardinal Mazarin paced the length of his makeshift chambers. After the attempt on his life, he had moved underground at night, hiding away in the secret rooms where he kept his most incriminating texts and artifacts. He had cleverly left a decoy in his real room to impede any pesky questions pertaining to his whereabouts.

Now his main concern was capturing d'Artagnan. He was certain that that Musketeer was behind it; the assassin's build matched his own. The King vehemently denied that his favorite Musketeer could have anything to do with it, so Mazarin was unable to get an arrest warrant. The Cardinal knew differently; d'Artagnan had openly shown his hostility when he delivered Bernard's sword and on other previous occasions.

But with Captain Duval protecting him inside the garrison, there was no way to get to him. Mazarin's greatest hope was for the Musketeer to conveniently disappear. "Remy!" he called for his new Captain of the Guard.

The red clad man appeared at the doorway, "Your Eminence," he answered.

Mazarin paused in his pacing to order, "I need you to set up a loose perimeter around the Musketeer garrison. Tell your men to follow the Musketeers Ramon, Siroc, and Jacques, the close friends of d'Artagnan. We need to coax him out of his shell."

"It will be done, sir," Remy bowed to leave.

"And make sure they are disguised. I don't want anyone to trace it back to the Guards."

Remy bowed again and left to inform his men.


	5. Traps

**5. Traps**

"Let's not be hasty now," the masked man said, words dripping like honey. His naked blade was raised as well, its delicate gold hilt glistening in the fading light from the window. He was decorated in all black, from hair and mask to booted toe.

"Who are you, and what do you want?" d'Artagnan asked levelly in just the right mood for a fight. It was like looking in the mirror; the man was the same height and size as d'Artagnan. If d'Artagnan put on full dress and a mask, he could probably even pass as the assassin. It was a little unnerving.

"Is that how you treat all your guests?" the man stepped fully out from the changing screen he had been hiding behind. "I have come here for business only."

D'Artagnan took a step forward. How could he have missed another presence in the room? "If you mean to kill me, let's just get it over with."

"Kill you?" the Spanish man laughed. "No, that is not why I'm here. I thought we could help each other. Put that steel away and take a seat." He took his own advice and sheathed his sword before arranging himself in a chair under the window. When d'Artagnan hesitated, he continued, "My style is more to sneak in the shadows, and kill you in your bed." The cold smile under his mask was obvious in his speech.

Putting his rapier away, d'Artagnan perched on the chair farthest from the assassin's. "Help each other? How?"

"You can get me to Mazarin."

"I'm not a hired blade—"

"I know where your lady friend is."

"What 'lady friend?'" d'Artagnan said quickly.

"Don't play dumb with me. The little woman that pretends to be a Musketeer, she is walking right into a trap," the Spaniard leaned back, toying with the other man. D'Artagnan sprang from his chair to the door instantly. "Don't bother; it's too late. By now she's well on her way."

D'Artagnan turned to the man with a cold stare. "How do you know all this?"

"Let us say, knowing things is a matter of life and death in my line of work."

Visibly restraining himself, d'Artagnan said, "Tell me where she is—"

"Tell me about the hidden corridors of the palace."

"I can't do that."

"Then I guess our business is at an end." The masked man rose to the window to leave.

"Wait." D'Artagnan looked sideways at him, conscience straining between duty to his King and loyalty to a woman. The masked man smiled.

"How do I know I can trust you?" d'Artagnan charged.

"I do not believe you have a choice, eh?" the Spaniard drawled.

----------

Jacqueline stepped elegantly out of the inn. She had a richly ornamented green dress on with her precious cross hanging down a plunging neckline. Her wig's blond hair was pulled back with a curled ringlet brushing each side of her face. She wore a diamond ring on her left hand. Her squabble with d'Artagnan had emboldened her, and she walked the evening streets with all the dignity of a lesser noble or successful merchant's wife.

She exchanged pleasantries with the innkeeper as she passed him going the other direction. "Bonsoir, Madame. I hope we are accommodating you as well as you like?" He kissed her hand.

"It is quite comfortable, I assure you, Monsieur." She gave a graceful nod, the one she had seen Queen Anne herself use. Jacqueline continued along her evening route and found herself admiring the glittering ring she wore.

Distracted, she wandered down an empty, sinister alley. By the time she noticed the shadows closing in, the men in black had overtaken her.

----------

When d'Artagnan left his room, his face was drawn tight, mouth set in a determined line. His stride was steady and firm as he found Siroc and Ramon eating supper in the common room. His friends looked up in alarm at their comrade's entrance.

"Where's Duval?" He asked, tearing up a sheet of parchment and tossing the pieces into the fire.

"In his office," Siroc replied quickly.

"I need your help…"

----------

Siroc stuck his head into Duval's office, ignoring the astonished look on the Captain's face, to say, "Sir, I have a new invention you might like to see."

Duval replied kindly, "That's all well and good, Siroc, but I'm just a little busy right now…" He shuffled some papers on his desk to stress his point.

"No problem, sir," Siroc told him. He turned sway and then wheeled a cart of sorts into the office. Duval regarded the jumbled mess on it with a look of dismay. "This will only take a minute."

----------

D'Artagnan and Ramon ran through the dark streets of Paris. Night had fallen quickly as he sat in his room talking with the assassin. D'Artagnan had divulged a secret entrance into the palace to the Spanish swordsman, and he hoped he would have the pleasure of erasing that memory from the man's mind himself. But that would be all in due time; right now he had to save Jacqueline.

D'Artagnan went over the note in his mind again and again, seeing it as clearly as if the words were burning in front of his eyes…

_Dear Sir:_

_I have in my possession something that claims to belong to you. I require 1000 livres if you wish to regain this treasure. Deliver it to 19 Rue d'Or by midnight, or I cannot be responsible for what happens._

_Sincerely,_

_The Craftsman_

_P.S. If you doubt my integrity, included is a small token of my affection._

The assassin had intercepted the messenger on his way to d'Artagnan. The masked man also assured d'Artagnan that the address was merely a drop point while they held Jacqueline at another location, the old tannery he now raced to. Now an empty warehouse, it was a congregating place for all of the dredges of society.

Tonight it was almost deserted.


	6. Rescue and Questioning

**6. Rescue and Questioning**

Jacqueline kept very still. She had been blindfolded, gagged, and dragged to this place where they tied her ankles and wrists together. She now stood precariously on a narrow wooden beam. Her captors had assured her that she was positioned over a very deep and very empty vat. This clue and the barn-like smell in the air convinced her that she was in the abandoned leather tannery where skins had been treated with solutions in vats and softened with hen and dog dung.

She did not dare try to escape. Jacqueline did not doubt that she was standing high above the ground; her dizziness made sure of that. Her blindfold made it impossible for her to scope out her surroundings—and a misstep could mean crashing helplessly fifteen feet down to the ground. In any case, tied hands and feet made movement impossible for the moment.

Jacqueline slowly worked her hands around, trying to loosen the ropes that bound them. If she could liberate a hand, it would just be a manner of finding the knife she had hidden in her skirts and cutting her way to freedom.

She heard the doors burst open below her. The next moment was spent in a desperate battle to keep her balance as the beam shook under her feet. Her heart pounded with fear and she fought to stay calm. Who would have entered in such a manner? Surely not her captors, they used a secret, hidden entrance. Jacqueline tried not to get her hopes up for rescue, instead straining her ears for clues pertaining to the intruder's identities.

She heard two pairs of footsteps walking around the ground floor. After a few tense minutes, Jacqueline heard the sheathing of one rapier followed by another. "Nothing, mi amigo. It's empty," one voice said sadly, and her heart almost burst with joy.

"Ramon?" she asked timidly around the gag, afraid she might be mistaken.

----------

"Shhh," d'Artagnan hissed to his friend, "Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?" Ramon whispered back, cocking an ear. His eyes probed the darkness for movement.

"Ramon?" came a louder and more desperate call. The sound was muffled to the men's ears.

"Jacqueline?" called d'Artagnan. "Is that you?" He held his breath.

"Thank you, God! D'Artagnan, look up," Jacqueline cried excitedly, trying to form words around the gag. "Look up!"

The two Musketeers followed the noise up and saw Jacqueline balanced high above their heads. They moved into action.

----------

Moments later, Jacqueline was safe on solid ground rubbing her chafed wrists. She sat with her legs stretched out in front of her, hardly caring if it was 'ladylike behavior.' They shook from the nervous stain they had been through for the past two hours. It had seemed so much longer…

D'Artagnan kneeled down next to her while Ramon stood, staring in disbelief. Jacqueline could not spare him more than a thought, however, because d'Artagnan started a line of questioning.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine."

"Did they hurt you?"

"No, d'Artagnan, I—"

"Did they touch you at all?"

"No! D'Art—"

"What did they look like?"

"I don't know; I was blindfolded."

"Where did they go?"

"How would I know? I was blindfolded!" Jacqueline finally yelled impatiently.

D'Artagnan's face softened from vengeance to tenderness. He then saw Jacqueline as his close friend rather than a witness. "Why did you risk it?"

"Do you know what it is like to be a man—Oh, never mind!" she sighed. "I just needed to shake it off."

"You were out playing dress up? Nice way to do it, getting kidnapped and waiting for me to rescue you," d'Artagnan teased, only half serious.

Jacqueline looked at him sincerely. "He asked me for my husband's name to send for the ransom, and you are the only one I knew I could trust to come." She smiled weakly.

"That reminds me," d'Artagnan fished through his pockets and pulled out the fake diamond ring that had come with the letter. "I believe this belongs to you." He offered it to her.

Jacqueline looked at it and blushed. "That was part of my disguise; I thought any street toughs would avoid a married woman. I was wrong." She looked up at him again and said, "Keep it. I don't want to be tempted again. Now, can we please get out of here? This place isn't exactly the royal apartments."

D'Artagnan helped her stand and they both noticed Ramon again. "Um… Ramon this is—" d'Artagnan began before Jacqueline cut him off.

"It's no use hiding it." Jacqueline stood up as tall as she could manage and said, "Ramon, I am Jacqueline Roget, a simple farm girl who murdered the Cardinal's captain to avenge my father and ended up a fugitive. I serve the King and France now as Jacques LePonte, and I ask for your discretion at least if you will deny me your friendship. After my deception, I wouldn't blame you if you never spoke to me again."

To Jacqueline's surprise, Ramon dropped to his knees in front of her, taking her hands in his own and resting his forehead on them. "I have waited for so long to hear you say that." He mumbled in Spanish and looked back up at her. "I pledge myself to your cause and swear to keep your secret to the grave." With that simple oath, he kissed her hands and rose to his feet.

"How did you—?" she began dumbfounded.

"I had my suspicions," Ramon grinned and winked at her.

Jacqueline traded glances with d'Artagnan and they both smiled. "We all know now," d'Artagnan told her. Jacqueline only nodded.

----------

When Ramon, d'Artagnan, and Jacqueline back in her Musketeer uniform walked into Siroc's workshop, the inventor greeted them calmly, "I hope your mission was successful, Jacques."

"Don't worry about it, Siroc; Ramon knows," d'Artagnan informed him after the door had been securely shut.

"That's a relief," the blonde man sighed, setting aside paper and pen.

"Wait, Siroc knew too?" Ramon asked sounding hurt.

Jacqueline jumped in, "Not for long. He just found out when he had to treat my wound on the night that Gerard died. I didn't know how to tell you, so I made him promise to keep it a secret."

Ramon shook his head thoughtfully, and Siroc took the initiative to ask for the story behind the rescue. D'Artagnan crossed his arms over his chest and waited expectantly for Jacqueline to tell the whole truth.

"D'Artagnan, you know that night you ran into me?" she started, everyone's eyes on her.

"I believe you ran into me," d'Artagnan clarified.

"Either way, that was just the first time I went out dressing up like a woman by myself. The black eye I had was from a man who dragged me into an alley; I fought him off and went running. I wasn't going to do it again until we had that fight earlier today, and I wanted to get away. Then, some men caught me on a back street. All I saw was that they were dressed in black and wore masks that covered their faces entirely, but not like the ones we saw before that worked for the Cardinal. They're different," Jacqueline explained.

"All black and in masks?" Siroc asked, eyeing d'Artagnan. The other Musketeer took no notice, so Siroc did not expand on the idea.

Jacqueline bobbed her head 'yes' and yawned. The three men all jumped to insist that she get to bed, and she groaned, "Don't start with that nonsense. No one can see you treating me any differently."

They exchanged guilty looks, but d'Artagnan earned the honor of walking her to her room. At the door, d'Artagnan checked the hall for other people before speaking, "You know, you could have asked me to be your escort. No one would have bothered you then."

"Yeah, and you would have escorted me right to your bed," she shot back over her shoulder in a low voice.

"Jacqueline, you know I wouldn't," he protested sounding hurt.

She turned to face him, back against the door. She smiled up mischievously. "Lighten up, d'Artagnan. Did anyone ever tell you that you were too serious?" Jacqueline slipped backwards into her room at that and shut the door in his face.

"It's only when I'm around you," he told the wooden door with a grin of his own.

----------

**Author's Note: This is referring to the final episode, "Secrets." I assumed that Siroc tended to Jacqueline's wound and obviously found out her true identity while Ramon was left outside to start digging the graves or something. I'm ignoring the whole Dumas sending them out in disguise thing and having Jacqueline's secret being exposed die with Bernard.**


	7. Revelations

**7. Revelations**

Midmorning of the next day found three Musketeers reclining in Siroc's workshop. Since d'Artagnan was not allowed to visit Café Nouveau, they had to make do with coffee scrounged out from the garrison kitchens. The topic of conversation had turned to the previous night's adventure.

"Are you sure the tannery was deserted? It doesn't make sense that they would go to so much trouble with the kidnapping only to leave her unguarded," Siroc surmised.

Ramon spoke over the rim of his mug, "It was clean. No footprints or anything. It was just Jacqueline standing on a beam." He inhaled deeply and took another sip.

Siroc pursed his lips in thought. "She said they were dressed in black masks. If they weren't the Cardinal's men, could they have been agents of this Spanish assassin of yours, d'Artagnan?"

Leaning against a shelf of books, it was now d'Artagnan's turn to think. "It's possible," he admitted, "He could have easily made up his story. She might have just been a hostage to get me to reveal the palace secrets. But we didn't hear anything from the palace last night, so he obviously did not try anything further on Mazarin's life. At least not yet."

Ramon piped in, "Then there is another problem we're overlooking: he knows about Jacqueline." The three men exchanged looks of alarm.

----------

Jacqueline jogged down the hallway, still buttoning her jacket and found her three friends in Siroc's workshop. "Why didn't anyone wake me up? It's probably past ten o'clock by now." They looked at her guiltily, and she knew they had been discussing her. Spotting a pastry on the table, she stepped over to pick it up and took a bite. "Mmmm… apple."

Siroc regained his composure first. "We thought we would let you sleep in. Nothing happened that required your particular expertise."

D'Artagnan spoke next, "And I figured you'd need your strength for a match today. We haven't had a good swordfight in weeks."

"That's because all our sparring has been verbal lately," she reminded him before stuffing the last corner of pastry in her mouth. She sat at the table across from her Spanish friend. It was such a relief to be herself around these men.

Ramon then noticed the cross around her neck. In her rush to get dressed, Jacqueline had neglected to tuck it under her shirt. "Where did you get that?" he asked suddenly, reaching for it.

Jacqueline unfastened the chain and let the cross drop into his outreached palm. "I've had it since I was a baby. Haven't you seen it before?"

Ramon studied it closely. "Yes, I've seen it. But not on you." Jacqueline frowned as he turned it over.

Siroc leaned in to see it over Ramon's shoulder. "J – A – R," he read the inscribed letters out loud.

"My initials," Jacqueline explained, "Jacqueline Armelle Roget."

"No," Ramon said. "It used to just have the 'A' in the middle. See, the 'J' and 'R' were added later."

D'Artagnan took it out of his friend's hand to examine it as Ramon looked up at Jacqueline. "It belonged to my sister, Arcelia Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz."

"That's impossible!" she scoffed. "I've had that for the last twenty years. My parents gave it to me."

"Do farm girls usually get crosses of Spanish gold from their parents?" Siroc inquired, the charm now in his hands.

D'Artagnan grinned at her. "Did you say you're only twenty?"

Jacqueline rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Yes, d'Artagnan, I fibbed about my age a little. As for the necklace, it is mine." She grabbed it out of Siroc's hand. "Now, I'm ready for a duel." She stood, tucking the cross securely under her shirt and challenging d'Artagnan to follow her to the courtyard.

"Yes, ma'am."

----------

Jacqueline sent d'Artagnan's blade flying across the courtyard, landing point down in a bale of hay. She lowered her rapier and wiped the sweat off her forehead with a sleeve. "That felt good," she told d'Artagnan under the applause showered on her by the enthusiastic bystanders. Ramon let out a loud whistle from the crowd for her.

"Yeah, it did," d'Artagnan admitted. It was nice to work out his frustrations; he had almost beaten her today. "Looked good, too," he told her in a low voice. Jacqueline gave him a playful shove but did not protest the comment like she usually did.

"Very nice, Private Jacques. You have improved even more, I see."

D'Artagnan would have recognized that voice anywhere. When he saw Jacqueline's face light up, his instinct was confirmed.

"Thank you, Compte d'Artagnan. All the better to serve our King." Jacqueline saluted him with her sword before sheathing it. Her smile was about to burst at the seams from his praise.

"Well said, my boy!" he replied, and the lingering Musketeers let out a cheer.

D'Artagnan the younger turned to face his father. "What brings you into Paris?" Jacqueline backed off to allow them some confidentiality.

"What? A man cannot stop by and see his own son?" he moved closer to make it more of a private conversation. "Or maybe my good friend Aramis is back from his self-imposed exile, and he has been made a Spanish Duke."

"Aramis?" the young d'Artagnan asked, "I haven't heard of him since I was a child. He must have been gone for…"

"Almost twenty years now," his father finished.


	8. Ghosts

**8. Ghosts**

Duval joined the group forming in Siroc's laboratory. The two d'Artagnans, Jacques, Siroc, and Ramon were exchanging pleasantries when he entered. "D'Artagnan, sir, what a pleasure to see you again so soon!" He shook the older man's hand with vigor.

"Same to you, Duval. I see you're keeping things running smoothly around here," d'Artagnan the elder praised.

"Everything is as well as can be expected. You are in Paris for pleasure, I hope?" Duval shifted his weight back off his bad leg.

The legend shook his head, "I'm afraid not. I am on a mission for an old friend. I have arranged for Baron du Valon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds and the Comte de la Fère to join me here, if you have no objections, of course."

Duval's eyes almost burst from his head. "Athos and Porthos are as welcome here as you are, sir."

Ramon, Siroc, and Jacqueline exchanged amazed looks. The most famous Musketeers of all time would be reuniting soon in the garrison they called home. The younger d'Artagnan just looked mildly curious, having grown up with the presence of these legends.

His father laughed heartily. "Please, Duval, that was a long time ago. Hardly anyone calls them that anymore."

The Captain looked around and lowered his voice, "So are the rumors true then—Ar… er…the Bishop de Vannes has returned."

"I have not seen him myself, mind you," said d'Artagnan, "but I have received a letter that he has come back to fix some of his old mistakes. I trust your discretion in this matter…"

"Yes, of course," Duval assured him. "Well, I've got to get back to work. You know your way around, so I'll leave you now." Duval excused himself to his office.

The elder d'Artagnan was quick to leave as well. He turned to the four young Musketeers. "I know I can trust you to keep the news of this meeting on low profile. It is strictly personal."

"Of course, sir. We've got your back," Jacqueline jumped in with an overly eager, too deep voice. The younger d'Artagnan nodded to his father and the man withdrew.

"'We've got your back?'" Ramon repeated, his face stretching with a toothy grin.

"It was the first thing that came to my mind, okay? I didn't hear you saying anything," Jacqueline defended herself. She looked over at Siroc; he was gazing off into space, face as pale as snow. "You all right, Siroc? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"I think I just did…" was all he could say. His friends exchanged looks of concern.

----------

That afternoon Ramon and Jacqueline were riding along the dirt trails of the forest on patrol. It was different to ride with her Spanish friend; he joked without patronizing her, and he didn't flirt, so she could let her guard down more than when she was with d'Artagnan. At this moment, Jacqueline was laughing uncontrollably at Ramon's newest rhapsody.

The laughter subsided to a companionable silence interrupted only by the regular hoof beats clopping below them. "Your sister, the one you said wore my cross, tell me about her," Jacqueline asked softly after a few moments.

Ramon gave her a long hard look and swallowed before answering. "She was the great beauty of Spain. She had enough charm to turn even a priest—that was her downfall." He looked straight ahead, jaw clenched.

"A priest?" Jacqueline prodded with puzzled tone, hoping to learn something deep about this affable man she had befriended.

"I was only seven years old, but Arcelia was seventeen. At the dances and fiestas, she was the center of attention. One day a French priest came to our village; he was to become a Jesuit and eventually the abbé d'Herblay. He grew close to our family, the richest in the area, by bringing his French wine and witty conversation into our home."

Ramon turned his eyes back on Jacqueline. "We trusted him while all the while he was seducing my sister. By the time we found out that she was pregnant, he had left town. The coward ran from his sins!" Ramon spat on the ground. "My father was furious and sent her away to a convent."

Jacqueline sucked her breath in. "What happened to her then?"

"My father is not a forgiving man; he cut her out of the family and forbade us to speak of her. She became a nun, and we never saw the child. I tried to get him to let her come home, but he disowned me, too. That's how I came to live in France and be a Musketeer."

"I never realized…" Jacqueline did not know what to say. Ramon was an even greater man in her eyes, defending his sister against his father's wrath. "You're an honorable man, Ramon." She reached out to touch his arm for a moment.

"Thank you, Jacques," his tone reminded her of where they were, on the main road headed back into Paris. She dropped her hand, flashing him a smile of thanks before squeezing her mare into a trot.

----------

D'Artagnan sulked in Siroc's lab as the inventor bent over some new contraption on his worktable. He paced the room restlessly, feeling trapped by his Captain's orders. "You just don't know what it's like to be locked in with no chance for escape; it's maddening!" He threw up his hands in disgust.

"Yes I do, d'Artagnan," Siroc replied softly, glancing up at his irritable friend through the magnifying goggles he was wearing, one of his better inventions. "More than you know…" he mumbled.

In his current state, d'Artagnan ignored the comment and continued complaining. "I can't even go on patrol to watch Jacqueline's back. What if she got herself into trouble? What could I do trapped in here like I am?"

Siroc sighed and straightened. "She has proven that she can take care of herself on numerous occasions. Besides, Ramon's with her. Now could you stop whining like a child and start being serious? What are your intentions with our friend Jacqueline?"

"With Jacqueline?" d'Artagnan repeated. He could not figure how Siroc could know about his particular relationship with her.

"It seems to me that the only one she needs protection from is you. Don't try any of your tricks that could compromise her," Siroc warned. "I consider her my sister, and I think you need to make your intentions clear."

"I would never do anything to hurt Jacqueline," d'Artagnan replied hotly, "and I have nothing but the best of intentions regarding her happiness."

"Then why don't you tell her that yourself?" Siroc said sagely before turning his attention back to his project.


	9. The Past Haunts Again

**9. The Past Haunts Again**

Late that night, Olivier Comte de la Fère quietly joined his old friends in a dimly lit back room of the Musketeer garrison. It had been many years since he had set foot in this building, and then he had been known as Athos, serving under Monsieur de Treville and drowning his past in drink. He had resigned shortly after Milady de Winter had been executed in order to devote his life to his son, Raoul. Now Raoul was having adventures of his own in the army and Olivier had nothing to keep him home. A request for a meeting from d'Artagnan was sufficient enough to draw him from his estates in the late evening.

Charles d'Artagnan stood on the far side of a table, bent over some papers. He had obviously turned the room into a makeshift command center. Porthos already sat at the table, glowing in his newly acquired title of Baron du Valon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds. "Isaac, Charles, how are you both?"

"Well enough, Olivier. I trust you've kept up with the latest news?" Isaac still remained the Porthos he had always been.

"Congratulations on your title, Baron," the Comte de la Fère replied graciously.

The impatient d'Artagnan interrupted the reunion. "We are here to discuss Aramis. He has returned to find the Roget girl."

"I've been making quiet inquiries as to her whereabouts, but she seems to have disappeared. Mazarin is still intent on bringing her to justice," Isaac said pointedly, referring to Charles' not-so-secret career in Mazarin's espionage service. The issue had built a wall between the friends, Charles and Isaac against Olivier and Aramis.

"I'm working on getting him to drop the charges. The Cardinal is much different from Richelieu," Charles replied firmly.

Olivier looked at both in turn. "What can I do? I had the farm watched for months and only the neighbor ever came. She's gone, probably left France if she was smart. The Gerard boy never came back either."

"I will ask Duval to have the Musketeers search Paris for her. Aramis is arriving the day after tomorrow, and he vows to remain in France until Roget is found," Charles told him. "Put the farm on continuous watch, and we'll see if we cannot chase her there with the search."

"And what does this mean for your son, Charles? Will you hold him to your promise?" Olivier asked him, thinking of his own son's amorous adventures. He could not imagine forcing him to marry someone his father had picked; arranged marriages were for politics.

Charles eyed his old friend sharply, "The agreement stands—a d'Artagnan's word lasts for all of time."

Isaac pardoned himself first. "I must return home to my wife. I will meet Aramis when he arrives."

Olivier broke away from Charles' gaze as well. "I found an inn down the street. I will assemble with you again in two days." He nodded goodbye and left the room behind Isaac.

----------

D'Artagnan the younger paced outside the door where his father met with Athos and Porthos. He could not work up the courage to barge into their meeting, so he waited for his father to emerge.

Charles burst out angrily and seemed surprised to see his son standing there. "Perhaps I should tell Duval that your talents are better tuned to spying on private conversations."

"Father, I came in good faith to tell you something," d'Artagnan answered patiently, hoping to keep the conversation positive.

Charles d'Artagnan nodded hurriedly. "Well get on with it; I have things to do."

"I thought you should know that I intend to ask for a woman's hand in marriage. I love her," d'Artagnan said simply. He did not know what he expected from his father. After this many years of letdowns, did he think the man would give him a pat on the back and ask about his soon-to-be bride?

The reaction he got was totally unexpected. "I forbid you to do any such thing. Call it off and forget her," the older man said gruffly.

"I can't do that," d'Artagnan said. "I don't care if you disapprove; I wasn't asking for your permission. I just thought you would like to know your son was happy for once."

Charles shook his head. "I know I wasn't always around when you were a boy, but that is not what this is about. You are already promised to marry someone. I had thought that it had been called off when the girl disappeared, but now we will get her back and the agreement will stand."

"Promised? You arranged my marriage?" d'Artagnan fumbled in a rage. "I cannot and will not go along with your little promise. I already love a woman, and there is no way I will give her up." He turned to leave, but his arm was caught by Charles.

"Don't be a fool, boy. The honor of a d'Artagnan's word is at stake; if you back out of this, you bring shame on all those that bear your name."

D'Artagnan looked his father in the eye. "Honor is not worth living the rest of my life without her." He pulled himself out of his father's grip and left.

----------

Jacqueline tossed and turned in her bed. She had blown out the candles in her room hours ago, yet sleep continued to evade her in the darkness. There was too much to think about, from Ramon's sister to the secret meeting of the legendary Musketeers. Something was happening right under her nose, but Jacqueline could not find a way to connect the dots to see the whole picture. It tortured her like an itch right between the shoulder blades—it was just out of reach.

She finally sat up; there was no point in suffering alone. Jacqueline pulled on trousers and her jacket just in case she ran into someone and left her room. She tiptoed down the hall to d'Artagnan's room. A slight hesitation convinced her that she should not go to him tonight. Now she had three men to support her, and d'Artagnan was the last one she should visit late at night.

Continuing down the hallway, she saw light flickering from the crack in the door of Siroc's workshop. Pushing open the door slowly so as to not disturb a delicate experiment, Jacqueline was surprised to find Siroc lying on his back, hands behind his head, in front of the dying fire. He was staring up at the ceiling, seemingly focused on a model of his flying machine which hung in a perpetual dive heading straight for him.

Siroc looked over calmly, not in the least ruffled by a nighttime visitor. Jacqueline crossed the room and lowered herself down beside him. Siroc pulled himself up into a sitting position to face her. The firelight danced across their faces as both Musketeers stared into the flickering light, content to rest in amiable silence.

"Jacqueline—" the name still came strangely to Siroc's lips.

"Siroc—" she said at the same time. Both laughed nervously, and Jacqueline told him, "You go first."

Siroc took a deep breath. "Now that I know the secrets of your past, I thought you should know mine." Jacqueline nodded and braced herself for his story. Siroc began.

"I was born in a village tucked away in the Pyrenees between France and Spain. When I was around six years old, my parents were killed by slave traders, and I was taken along with my sister. I lived for eight months in a caravan of unfortunates who were destined for the trading block. A servant of a Bishop took pity on us and purchased my sister and me into the man's service.

"I was happy for awhile. They made me do small odd chores, like sweeping the fireplace or delivering messages. Whenever I was free I would sneak into this huge library; the Bishop had the greatest collection of literary masterpieces anywhere in Spain. I taught myself to read French, Spanish, and English. Those were the greatest moments of my childhood.

"One day the Bishop caught me in his library. I thought he would kill me for touching his treasured volumes, but instead he had me to sit down in one of his velvet armchairs and told me stories of the royal Musketeers of France. He spoke of great battles and sieges, of brave men, of political intrigues, and of amorous adventures. He was a sad man, and I seemed to give him comfort just by listening. He would call me at all hours of the day just to tell me a story."

Siroc swallowed hard. "While all this was happening, I never realized that they were slowly taking my sister away from me. I saw her less and less, but it never occurred to me until one day she was just gone from my life. Another few years passed, and I was fifteen when I saw my sister again."

Now he was all choked up; Jacqueline stared in wonder at the man she knew to be logical and rational all the time as he fought to keep from crying. Her womanly instinct to comfort took over and she scooted closer to her suffering friend and wrapped him in a warm, reassuring hug. Siroc clutched her back, struggling to control his breathing, salty tears watering his eyes.

He whispered into her ear, "The priests, supposed holy men, used my sister as a plaything. I walked in on one of them forcing her…" Siroc shuddered, trailing off.

Jacqueline stared out into the darkness of the laboratory over his shoulder. Now she could see why her Musketeer friends cared for her so fiercely—they had both lost their sisters to the world and didn't want to lose Jacqueline, their new sister, too. She loved them back more than ever. "What did you do?" she asked softly.

"I charged the man with a sword, but I was blind with hatred and knew nothing of fighting. He wrestled it from me and gave me the scar across my back. My sister recognized me and fought the man to stop, and he ran her through. He left me for dead, but the maid who had treated me as a son found me soon after and healed my wounds. She risked her life to hide me."

Siroc now regained his emotional strength and pulled away from Jacqueline. He stared into the fire once more. "I ran from Spain as soon as I could walk and came all the way to France and Paris and the Musketeers. The Bishop taught me that they fought for justice and goodness. Duval showed me it was true by taking me in as a starving boy with nothing but a sharp mind. He gave me free rein to learn and experiment in my own workshop."

Jacqueline was now hit with the full intensity of Siroc's eyes. "The Bishop de Vannes probably believes me dead still, and he is coming here. I can't let him find me and take me back to Spain."

"We would never let that happen. Musketeers, remember? All for one, one for all," Jacqueline said. They both winced at the legend d'Artagnan's motto. "The Bishop will never have to see you; just stay locked up in your workshop when he comes and no one will find out your connection. I think we can manage to keep him distracted."

Siroc looked at her solemnly. "You did right, Siroc. Nothing can change what happened, but you can be happy for your sister." She flashed an encouraging smile. Siroc nodded.

Jacqueline gripped his shoulder one last time before leaving. Now she had even more to think about as she tossed and turned in bed.

----------

D'Artagnan left the garrison early the next morning, leading his horse through the narrow streets. He had a hard day's ride ahead of him to get to his estate. A note slipped under Duval's office door would explain his absence for only two days. He was just disappointed that he could not tell his friends the truth; d'Artagnan could not risk any questions until he had asked Jacqueline the most important one of all.

His mother had given him her wedding ring before she died, and he had hidden it in a secret compartment in his fireplace. It would be the perfect way to make his intentions clear to Jacqueline and their friends.

So wrapped up in his thoughts, d'Artagnan did not hear his followers and draw his rapier in time to stop a sword hilt from knocking him down to the cobblestone ground.


	10. Pressure

**10. Pressure**

The morning sun shone brightly on the backs of the Musketeers; the entire garrison was turned out for a special assignment given by none other than the Legend himself. All of the men—and a disguised woman—craned their necks to see the small platform that had been brought out for the address. Charles d'Artagnan strode out purposefully with Duval at his flank, and the assembled crowd murmured in excitement.

Charles took two steps up and turned to the sea of grey and blue before him. All he had to do to regain their full attention was raise one arm. "Loyal men of the Musketeers, I have an important mission for you." He shook out an old wanted poster of Mazarin's. Jacqueline paled as her ink and paper likeness looked her back in the face. Ramon shifted so he stood in front of Jacqueline, and Siroc glanced nervously around as he moved closer to her as well.

"Jacqueline Roget has been at large for the murder of a Cardinal's guard for almost a year. She is now wanted by the Musketeers—a top priority," Charles explained surveying the mass of soldiers before him with a stern eye. "Take her alive and unharmed. That is very important. Do. Not. Harm. Her."

The Musketeers looked at each other confusedly. Duval took the initiative to bellow, "You heard him. Do your duty. Dismissed!" The crowd dissipated quickly into the street, ready to comb Paris for one woman.

Jacqueline shuffled out with the rest, trying to hide her face in Ramon's back. Siroc pulled her over to the right, and the three of them reentered the garrison through a side door into Siroc's workshop. Safely inside, she looked up at Ramon, but he was staring at his feet. She moved her glance to Siroc who met her eyes steadily. Something was missing.

"Where's d'Artagnan?" she asked suddenly.

"He went back in the main door with Duval. I don't think he recognized you," Siroc tried to reassure her.

"No," Jacqueline shook her head, "not that d'Artagnan. My—our—d'Artagnan."

Siroc raised his eyebrows at the 'my.' Ramon did not show any outward signs that he had heard the slip, but rather he speculated, "He's probably sulking somewhere; an appearance by his father wouldn't be on his list of things to see."

Jacqueline took a deep breath, eyes closed, seemingly accepting the explanation. "This is okay, this is fine. I haven't been found out yet, and they won't be looking for me dressed as a man in their very midst." The men exchanged glances; it was going to be rough sailing ahead.

----------

D'Artagnan blinked the fog out of his eyes. His wrists and ankles were chained and his back was against the wall. Weights on the chains held him stiffly upright even while he had been unconscious. He took stock of his surroundings; it was a dungeon of some sort, but not one he had seen before. Only one man in Paris would have use for a personal prison—"Mazarin!" d'Artagnan called, straining against the chains that bound him. "Show yourself!"

The Cardinal floated down the staircase in his red robes. "I see you have finally revived yourself, d'Artagnan. I have to say I was starting to get worried." The evil grin on his face was too much.

"If this is still about the assassination attempt, you know it wasn't me. The Spanish still plot against you, Mazarin," d'Artagnan fished for information. It was lazy of him to allow the Cardinal to capture him so easily.

"I admit that was my first motive, but this morning something else came to my attention. You father has ordered all Musketeers to search for a woman that I have also been looking for," Mazarin explained, starting to pace just in front of d'Artagnan. "Then there happens to be the biggest coincidence—this is the part where you come in—you are promised to marry this woman, of all things! What a small world we live in. Now I have a few questions to ask of you. Where is your peasant wench betrothed, and what does she have to do with Aramis?" Now the wicked man paused in front of d'Artagnan.

The Musketeer's head was spinning. _Father gives orders to find Mazarin's wanted woman that I am betrothed to? I am to marry a peasant girl? And Aramis has something to do with it? _"I don't know what you're talking about," d'Artagnan replied defiantly, trying to pretend that it was not true.

"Wrong answer," Mazarin told him. He looked over to the left and nodded at a cloaked man who stood there. The man started pulling the levers in front of him, and the chains began to pull d'Artagnan's limbs taut. D'Artagnan gritted his teeth to keep from crying out in pain; his joints were screaming in agony as he was being stretched in a rack.

Mazarin watched in pleasure as his least favorite Musketeer suffered for his eyes only. "I will be the first to find her and kill her, don't you fret about that. You could just make this much easier for us all. Tell me where to find her, and I'll let you walk out of here, relatively unharmed." Reluctantly, he motioned for the lever man to stop. D'Artagnan slumped in the slack of the chains, body throbbing in pain.

Mazarin came as close to d'Artagnan's face as he dared. "Does this name jog your memory: Jacqueline Roget?"

The look of fear in d'Artagnan's eyes gave the Cardinal all the answer he needed.

----------

A carriage rumbled along a dark road leading to Paris. Glancing out the window, the sole occupant tapped twice on the ceiling of the carriage with his staff. The horses were pulled to a stop, and a masked man opened the door and pulled himself inside.

"It hasn't been done," the coach owner stated bluntly.

"No," the masked man replied, "the plan was flawed. I'm sorry, Monsieur le Duc." He bowed his head in submission. "I obtained some new information but was unable to act on it and risk missing this meeting."

The Duc considered this for a moment. "Very well. Move quickly; I want the job done before I leave Paris."

"Yes, Your Excellency," the masked man kissed the ring on the Duc's offered hand before leaving the carriage. Pausing to think for only a minute, the Duc tapped the ceiling once more to put the coach back into motion.


	11. Arival

**11. Arrival**

In the early afternoon, a group of Musketeers gathered in the back courtyard of the garrison. Isaac and Olivier stood to one side talking in low voices with Charles while Captain Duval spoke to Ramon and Jacqueline. "You are to be the extra eyes and ears; we cannot allow anyone to see or hear what happens here, understand?" The young Musketeers showed their acceptance, and Duval went on. "D'Artagnan took leave for yesterday and today, so I know he will not be here, but where is Siroc?"

"Oh, sir, I am to tell you that he is in the middle of a very important experiment that requires his attention. He sends you his apologies," Jacqueline jumped in, satisfied that she could do her part to protect a friend from this Bishop de Vannes. Duval nodded and moved away to address the older soldiers.

Ramon looked down at his courageous young friend. She had taken extra care to look like a man today: her chin hair had been applied with extra adhesive, her hair was parted to the extreme side and tied with a double knot, and, Ramon could tell by the way she was breathing, Jacqueline had bound herself tighter than usual as well. "You doing all right, mi hermana?" he asked.

Jacqueline smiled up at him, "It's just the heat." She shrugged her shoulders a few times to loosen up and straightened her jacket again with a little tug. She was avoiding the wandering gaze of Charles by shrinking back behind Ramon. They both resigned themselves to waiting.

They did not have to wait long, however, because an opulently gilded carriage pulled up in front of them. The matched pair of dapple grays was pulled to a halt by a man dressed in rich green and gold livery. A footman detached himself from his post to open the coach door and let the stairs down for the man inside.

Jacqueline put on her best imperturbable soldier look, and she dutifully scanned the surrounding rooftops for hidden assassins or spies. Ramon merely watched the dark doorway of the carriage, curiously waiting for its occupant to emerge.

A gloved hand gripping a staff emerged first, booted feet following. The man who grew out of the shadow had shoulder length, loose, wavy, black hair and a goatee—both were graying. His skin was tanned, and his surprisingly light eyes looked out from under bushy brows. He had the air of a soldier, holding himself proudly erect, and of a priest, with a stern but wise look in his eye. His outfit, in fact, looked much like a Bishop's robe made in green. A Spanish decorated sword belt and sheath were hung around his waist and displayed a delicate looking gold hilt on his rapier.

Jacqueline could not help but stare at this magnificent man. He looked every inch a nobleman, warrior, and holy man mixed together in some odd way. His very presence commanded immediate respect and admiration. She was so distracted that she did not see the expressions on Ramon's face; he went from surprise to shock to confusion and finally ended on rage.

By now the Bishop had both feet on the ground and was gazing up at the garrison he had not seen in years. Charles was moving forward with a stiff stride as though he was dreading to tell him something.

"Por Arcelia!" Ramon cried, drawing his rapier and charging the Bishop. Jacqueline, stunned by her friend's behavior, was a split second late in reacting.

"No, Ramon!" she yelled, leaping forward, trying to throw herself between the Bishop and her friend. Charles and the Bishop had drawn in defense, and Olivier, Isaac, and Duval were running forward. Ramon swung once at the Bishop who blocked it easily with his staff. Jacqueline rushed between the two men and hit Ramon's rapier down hard, raising the tip of hers to his throat. Duval and Isaac rushed up to grab the Spaniard's shoulders from behind.

"Drop it," Charles growled before Duval had a chance to speak. Ramon, seeing the hopeless odds, surrendered his blade. He never tore his eyes from the Bishop. Jacqueline's arm shook from the shock of having Ramon held captive under her own rapier.

The Bishop regarded the sputtering Musketeer with cold eyes. "Have you some quarrel with me, boy?" He held his staff calmly at his side in a position where he could still easily strike.

"My sister was Arcelia Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz, abbé," Ramon said simply, daring the Bishop to deny anything.

Jacqueline dropped her blade from Ramon's throat and looked at the Bishop. The man blanched for a moment but regained his composure quickly. "Take him," he said simply, turning away from his attacker. Isaac, Olivier, and Charles stared at Ramon peculiarly.

----------

Duval steered Ramon into a back storeroom of the garrison, hand gripping one of his arms; Jacqueline trailed behind, sword tip pointing at her friend's back. Duval was muttering, "My own Musketeer… attacking unprovoked… distinguished guest…" Jacqueline supposed he was saving the explosion for behind closed doors.

The dark room Duval opened was full of sacks of wheat stacked from the stone floor to the wooden ceiling. Ramon walked all the way in, surveying the windowless room with no expression. He turned to face Captain Duval who was positively glowering in the doorway.

"I'll stand guard," Jacqueline announced, shutting the heavy wooden door behind her. She could hear Duval yelling on the other side of the thick barrier. Though she could not make out the words, she winced at the tone.

Duval pulled the door open behind her, and she whirled to meet him. "…You'll stay here until I decide what to do with you!" he howled over his shoulder into the room. Shutting the door tight, he locked it behind him. He then noticed Jacqueline standing there. "What are you looking at? Go take care of our guest!" Duval limped off angrily back down the hall.

Jacqueline hesitated a moment. She turned to the small grill about eye level in the door. "Ramon?" she whispered.

His face loomed up out of the darkness. "That was the abbé d'Herblay. I had to do it for my sister."

Jacqueline nodded. "I'll talk to the Captain about it." She gave him one last lingering look of sympathy before turning on her heel to follow orders. She left wondering how strange it was that Ramon's abbé and Siroc's Bishop were one and the same.

----------

Jacqueline carefully balanced the full tray of food on one arm as she knocked on the door with her free hand. "Come in," a voice commanded from the other side. She let herself in, mentally appreciating all the waitresses in the café who did this balancing act effortlessly every day.

"Private Jacques LePonte, sir, bringing you your supper as per request," she stood at the best attention she could manage with her burden.

The Bishop looked up from his desk; it already had books and papers strewn haphazardly across it after only a few hours of use. The man himself had changed into plain black trousers and a loose, flowing white shirt. He motioned with ink stained fingers to a table across the room in front of his fireplace. "Very good—you can set it up over there."

Jacqueline looked at the table in surprise, and she moved to it anyway. She had not expected to set out his meal for him but took it in stride. He was an important guest, one used to having servants wait upon him, no doubt.

After she finished arranging the dishware, she stood and addressed the Bishop once more. "Is there anything else I could get you, Monsieur—?" Jacqueline fumbled for the correct way to address him.

"Monsieur le Duc," he replied, "I am René Duc d'Alameda. I'm afraid that the incident earlier did not allow for proper introductions, Private LePonte." He stood and walked over to the chair Jacqueline had set up by his dining table. "Please, join me for a glass of wine. I've had no good conversation since I left from Spain. Sit."

Jacqueline obeyed, pulling a chair up towards the fireplace, but she declined to take the offered drink.

The Duc asked about the Musketeers and Captain Duval and Paris in general. He admitted that he had not been in the city for over twenty years. Jacqueline tried to answer as truthfully as she could while taking the time to observe the man who had dishonored Ramon's sister and enslaved Siroc.

A break in the exchange allowed Jacqueline to ask a question herself, "What brings you to France now, Your Excellency?"

The Duc studied her over the rim of his wineglass, taking a large swallow before answering. "I am searching for a girl. A young woman really…" He gave Jacqueline one more scrutinizing glance. "Maybe you've seen or heard of her. She would be almost twenty-one now with dark hair and light eyes, so I'm told. Her name is Jacqueline Roget."

Jacqueline's jaw dropped.


	12. Confession Is Good For the Soul

**12. Confession Is Good For the Soul**

Jacqueline, tense with fear, asked, "For what reason do you search for her?" She pried her fingernails out of the arms of her chair.

"Jacqueline is the daughter I shamefully abandoned. I have come to give her what she deserves—her title, wealth, and honor," the Duc took another long swallow of wine before refilling the glass himself.

"And how do you know she is alive and in Paris?" Jacqueline pressed, voice losing some of its pretended deepness in astonishment.

The Duc sighed. "If you want to know the truth, I must tell the entire story," he warned. Jacqueline made no protest, so he began.

"I was in an exile of sorts in the Americas for the past fifteen years. Most recently, I lived in Nova Scotia caring for an older priest who was dying of typhus. I was out in the nearby village one day when he had a visitor. When I got back, the priest was so agitated. He said that a young man had showed him the cross that I had told him about and said the cross belonged to his sister in Paris. Then the old priest died. I figured that the visitor was none other than Gerard Roget and tried to track him down, but he had disappeared.

"See, the old priest had been my confessor. I had told him about my sinful abandonment of my daughter and treatment of her mother, the Spanish beauty Arcelia Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz. She sent the child to me shortly after she was born and hid herself in a convent on the other side of Spain. The only thing I had to give my daughter was the cross Arcelia had given me. I had a 'J' and an 'R' added to the back so that my daughter Jacqueline could know her parents were Arcelia and René.

"I called for my old friends to assist me. See, I was merely an abbé when this happened, and I was to become a Bishop. To hide my daughter's existence, I had Charles bring her to Olivier who placed her with a peasant family who lived on his lands. I sent Isaac money to bring to the Roget family each month to pay for my daughter's needs; a direct money line to them would have been suspicious to my enemies," he paused here, looking surprised to have revealed so much.

Jacqueline thought out loud, "So if your old friends are d'Artagnan, Athos, and Porthos, that would make you—?"

"Aramis, the third Musketeer, as I was known," he wore an ironic smile. "How long ago that was…"

"So you became a Bishop, hiding all this guilt?" Jacqueline prodded. The narrative seemed so unreal to her, like a story from a book; she could not believe that all these illustrious people were connected to her and that the man she was staring at could be her father.

"I allowed myself to forget about it for a few years, until this child came into my life. My servant bought two pitiful slave children, a French boy and his sister. The boy was after my own heart, it seemed, because he would sneak into my library and pour over books that were almost too heavy for him to lift. I found myself wanting to tell him stories and help develop his young mind. That child—Cirocco, I think he was called—was the brightest I have ever seen. Unfortunately, he was killed along with his sister in some strange confrontation… I never found out that whole story," the Duc's brow furrowed in thought.

"He made me remember my duty as a father, but by then, the peasant family loved Jacqueline too dearly for me to take her away, so I left all my worldly possessions to Jacqueline, via a dowry to Charles, promising her to marry his son. Then, I banished myself from Europe. I planned on staying to the day I died until I got news that the Roget's had died and she was in France alone… I figured God was calling me back to make things right."

Jacqueline stopped listening after 'promising her to marry his son.' _I am promised to marry d'Artagnan? Ramon's sister is my mother? Siroc, since he is still alive, would be part of my dowry? _Her head whirled from the absurdity of the world. _How did I manage to end up in the Musketeer garrison with my uncle, my slave, and my betrothed?_

"I take it you've never met her," René said sadly.

Before she could think about it, Jacqueline dropped to her knees in front of him. She looked up into the heartbreaking sadness of his eyes. She pulled the knot from her hair, ripped the beard from her chin, and spoke with her natural voice, "I am your daughter. I am Jacqueline Roget." She pulled her necklace out from under her shirt.

René took the cross gingerly from her fingers and traced the letters etched on the back. His eyes studied her face, and she saw them watering like her own. He touched her cheek. "You have your mother's face, I think." He started laughing softly.

Jacqueline laughed quietly with him, "And I have your eyes, Father." Tears spilled over onto her cheeks, burning with happiness. "Give me a moment, please."

Jacqueline stood, smiling at her father, and opened the door. She would show him a daughter he could be proud of.

----------

Elsewhere in Paris that night, more unexpected discoveries were being made. The masked man was again wandering around the palace, but this time he approached the Cardinal's rooms from underground. D'Artagnan had told him the location of Mazarin's secret escape tunnel exit in exchange for information on where to find his kidnapped lady friend. Now the assassin was feeling his way along the long stone tunnel, eyes searching for any hint of light ahead.

And there it was—a glow off to the right. The masked man quickened his pace and reached the grate in only a few strides. A heavy curtain covered most of the doorway, but the man could peer trough the tiny crack on the side and saw a large, empty dungeon-like room. He removed a glove to touch the barred door's hinges; they were well oiled, luckily enough. The assassin pressed the door firmly, and it gave under his touch, opening slowly and silently into the room. He slipped out from under the curtain and got the surprise of his life.

----------

Jacqueline returned to her father's room in a dress, a pinkish white one that she had been saving for a special occasion. Her cross hung down delicately around her neck. René stood leaning on the mantle, staring down into the fire, but he looked up immediately when he heard Jacqueline enter.

"My daughter, my Jacqueline," was all he could say. She went to him, and he wrapped her up in a bear hug. She held him back tightly; she had thought her whole family was dead, and now her father came walking back into her life.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered into her ear.

"It's all right. We're together now," she said for him as much as for herself. He released her to look back at her face. René took up her hand

"Tomorrow we will go to the King and declare your birthright. And I'll get these murder charges dropped immediately."

Jacqueline looked up confused. "How did you know about—"

"The murder?" he asked. "Charles told me today that my daughter was in trouble with the Cardinal. Don't worry, Mazarin won't be a problem anymore."

"What do you mean?" she asked, instantly suspicious.

René smiled down at her, "I made two mistakes in leaving France: leaving you behind and letting Mazarin control Louis. I am correcting the first one right now and the second will be remedied by morning." He pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

Jacqueline pulled away, "It was you, then. You hired the assassin that d'Artagnan was blamed for!"

"That is true, my dear. The only way to assure that Mazarin cannot harm anyone is for him to be buried under six feet of earth," he explained as though it should be obvious.

"No, that is not right," Jacqueline stated. "It would be too kind to cut his life short with a knife. Capture him; bring him to be judged. Let him rot in the Bastille where he has sentenced many innocents. Let that be his reward for evil."

René looked at his daughter in amazement. "You are right, my dear, but I am afraid that it is too late. By now the assassin must be in the palace."

"It's never too late," Jacqueline told him. "Let's go get the Cardinal, once and for all."


	13. An Arrest To Be Made

**13. An Arrest To Be Made**

D'Artagnan looked up wearily from his place chained on the wall as a hidden door opened to reveal a new visitor. He perked up slightly when he recognized the man. "You?"

The masked man looked quite surprised, but recovered his suave exterior quickly. "What a pleasure to see you again, d'Artagnan. I have to thank you for the easy entry I made." He bowed with a flourish and headed towards the circular staircase that would take him up into Mazarin's chambers once again.

"Wait!" d'Artagnan called, "I can help you."

The Spanish assassin turned back with a hidden smile. "I couldn't ask you to kill in cold blood…" he taunted him, recalling their last conversation.

"It wouldn't be murder. I have a duty to prevent him from hurting anyone else. Help me down and I'll help you." D'Artagnan's eyes pleaded; this could be the only way to save Jacqueline.

The assassin considered—an extra man would be useful if Mazarin had company when he made his move. D'Artagnan seemed a willing killer at this moment, as well. Without a word, the assassin pulled the levers to slacken the chains.

D'Artagnan's legs gave out under the strain of holding his body up for two days. The Spaniard calmly went about picking the locks on the shackles. "Take a moment to stretch your muscles," he drawled. "We'll take him out when he comes down to visit."

D'Artagnan nodded his understanding and tentatively began to test his body's limits.

----------

Jacqueline ran down the halls of the garrison, her trailing dress and the rapier at her side giving her more difficulty than usual. René was alongside her. She first led him to Siroc's laboratory, opening the door quickly.

Siroc looked up immediately from the notebook in his hand. "Jacqueline?" he called, stunned at her appearance. "You're crazy running around dressed like—" René had poked his head in the door.

"Siroc, listen to me," Jacqueline said half out of breath, "you have nothing to fear from him. I own you now, and I free you. There is no time to explain anymore, just come with us. We are taking Mazarin tonight."

Siroc wasted only an instant before pulling on his jacket and grabbing his baldric. The three ran back out into the hall.

Here they broke off, René to collect the elder Musketeers and Jacqueline and Siroc to free Ramon. As soon as she reached the door, Jacqueline slid open the access panel covering the barred window in the door. Ramon's eyes looked out from the darkness.

"Is that you, Jacqueline?" he asked, surprised.

"Yes, Ramon. I don't have time to explain; I will let you out if you promise not to hurt René, the abbé. Do you trust me?"

"With all my heart," he answered truthfully. "I swear not to harm a hair on the abbé's head without your permission."

"Good enough," Jacqueline told herself. "Ramon, get away from the door." She spun and pulled Siroc's pistol from his belt in one motion. She aimed and fired, blowing the lock out of the door easily. She handed the weapon back to Siroc without a word and swung the door open. "Come on, Ramon." Siroc tossed the bewildered Spaniard his rapier, and they headed out.

----------

The masked man stood to one side of the end of the staircase, and d'Artagnan waited on the other. Mazarin came walking down, absorbed in some document he held in his hand. D'Artagnan beat the assassin in grabbing the Cardinal from behind, struggling to keep a hold as the man forced him backwards.

The assassin drew his rapier, reacting quickly when he saw Mazarin pull a dagger from his sleeve; he dove in and deftly sliced into the tender anatomy of his arm. The red-robed man dropped the dagger in pain and shock. "Move out of the way, so I can finish him!" the Spanish man cried to d'Artagnan.

"I can't let you do that," d'Artagnan replied. The Musketeer backed up slowly, keeping Mazarin in a firm grip.

"I knew I shouldn't have trusted you!" the masked man called. "Move, or I'll be forced to send you to hell with the unholy swine!"

"You will do no such thing!" a feminine voice called from the stairs. Jacqueline ran down, followed by René, Ramon, Siroc, and Olivier. Mazarin's eyes opened wide as he realized who the woman was. His sudden slump caused d'Artagnan to stumble backwards, hitting the wall hard.

All of the sudden, a large grinding and groaning sound filled the room as a secret niche was revealed by the rock wall sliding out of place. A stone shelf was exposed, containing numerous volumes and stacked loose manuscripts.

Siroc and Olivier hurried over, the younger lifting a piece of parchment gingerly off of a stack, and the latter taking down a large leather bound book. While everyone was distracted by this new development, the masked man sought René's eye. With a slight nod, the older man dismissed the assassin who left silently through the curtain he had entered from.

Olivier looked up from his reading. "These are ancient texts of sorcery and devil worship," his tone reflected the incredulous expression on his face.

"And this is a copy of a letter to an Italian assassin, requesting his services to be used against the King," Siroc chimed in. He scanned the bindings of the other books. "This must be Mazarin's collection for the Order of the Black Tabernacle and the safe for his most incriminating documents."

Mazarin shook off his shock and twisted away from a distracted d'Artagnan. Immediately he was surrounded by a circle of rapiers. The faces of Jacqueline, Ramon, and René stole his last traces of hope for escape. Mazarin scowled as he focused his glare on the third face, "I should have figured the Bishop de Vannes, Aramis of France would still be plotting aginst me. You tried to block my advancement in the Church, and you gave me my hatred for the Musketeers."

René replied harshly, "I came to fix my mistakes, Guilio, and you were at the top of my to do list."

"You've come a long way to do so. I see the Spanish still love you," Mazarin spat, taking in the rapier René held. It was an honorary one given only to nobility by the Spanish monarchs themselves.

"You would have done well to gain some Spanish affection. It is they who wish you dead even more than I," René shot back.

Mazarin had no retort; he simply glared back at the man he loathed. "Let's take him to the King," Olivier broke in. He led the way back up the stairs followed by Mazarin, Ramon, René, and Siroc who carried an armload of paper evidence.

----------

D'Artagnan and Jacqueline lingered behind. She looked down awkwardly, extremely conscious that she was standing before d'Artagnan in a dress.

His eyes drank in her appearance thirstily. "Jacqueline, you look beautiful," he finally said. It was true—she was radiant in her delicate white gown with loose, flowing dark hair and flushed cheeks. The rapier in her hand only added to the image in d'Artagnan's eyes.

"If I had known Mazarin held you here, I would have come sooner, but we all thought—oouff," she broke off as d'Artagnan wrapped her up in his arms.

"It doesn't matter. You came for me anyway." D'Artagnan released her to allow enough space between them so he could see her face. He leaned in slowly for a kiss, and Jacqueline turned her head away.

"D'Artagnan, there is something that I need to tell you," she said, face still turned aside.

D'Artagnan fumbled to recover after his blunder. "What is it?"

"It's a long story, but basically, we were promised to marry each other," she bit her lip, expecting a usual d'Artagnan-like comment.

Instead, he surprised her with, "I know." Then, he gave a very un-d'Artagnan-like sigh. "Mazarin let it slip. We can easily call it off." He completely let go of her as though her skin burned him to the touch.

"No, d'Artagnan, I don't want to!" burst out of Jacqueline's mouth before she could think about it. D'Artagnan's eyes brightened as he raised his eyebrows, and Jacqueline continued softly, "You may have been my promised husband, but you will always be my chosen lover."

With that she stood on her tiptoes to give him their first real kiss.


	14. Jacqueline's Speech

**14. Jacqueline's Speech**

When Jacqueline and d'Artagnan arrived, a trial of sorts had already assembled. Mazarin stood between René and Olivier with Ramon pointing the tip of his rapier in his back as a reminder. Siroc stood off to the right still holding his stack of evidence. The main surprise, however, was that they were joined by Charles, Isaac, and Duval. As they left the garrison, René had decided to leave those three out of the plan because his old friends were Mazarin sympathizers and Duval would have probably forbidden his Musketeers to go.

They were all facing a seated Queen Anne and King Louis, the latter looking quite ruffled from being woken up in the middle on the night. When Jacqueline and d'Artagnan entered, the whole ensemble—minus the preoccupied Ramon and Mazarin—turned to look.

"Forgive us, Your Majesty," d'Artagnan apologized. "We were detained at the scene of the arrest." The pair came forward to pay their respects to the King.

Mazarin burst out frantically, "She is the real criminal! That is Jacqueline Roget; she has been posing as Jacques LePonte this entire time. She is a murderer and traitor to her own sex!" He pointed at her threateningly. Duval, Charles, and Isaac looked shocked. Everyone else on the floor just looked fearful for her. D'Artagnan moved to block Jacqueline from Mazarin's view as if that could save her.

"It is true; I am not Jacques LePonte," she spoke up, looking around at the friends and family that surrounded her and taking a deep breath. She looked straight at King Louis and Queen Anne.

"I am Jacqueline Armelle Roget, daughter of the former Musketeer Aramis, abbé d'Herblay, Bishop de Vannes, René Duc d'Alameda. My mother was Arcelia Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz, now Sister Maria in a Spanish convent."

She now motioned to each person in turn as she spoke of them. "That would make me the niece of Ramon Montalvo Francisco de la Cruz, a Musketeer in Your Majesty's service. I am also the rightful owner of the Musketeer Siroc, formerly Cirocco, slave of the Jesuits under my father's care, who was given to me in my dowry, and would now also belong to my promised fiancé." Here Jacqueline paused to meet the eyes of her dearest friend and lover. "I am promised to marry Charles Vicomte d'Artagnan."

Jacqueline turned her gaze to Mazarin, now. "Shall I go on? I am goddaughter of Athos, Olivier Comte de la Fère and Porthos, Isaac Baron du Valon de Bracieux de Pierrefonds. It also seems that I would be the future daughter-in-law to Charles de Batz-Castelmore Comte d'Artagnan, a Legend of France."

Her attention turned back to King Louis. "It is true that I killed a man, a Captain of the Cardinal's guard, no less. I won't deny it. It was to avenge the senseless death of a man I regarded as a father. I hid from Mazarin and his cruelties by masquerading as a man in the Royal Musketeers. I believed I would be best put to use by fighting for the King and against the corruption of the Cardinal. I have done what I considered my duty to God and to my country, and I humbly await your judgment." Jacqueline took a knee, arranging her long dress around her and bowing her head.

Louis looked flabbergasted at this revelation. Queen Anne, so practiced in schooling her face, managed to look only mildly curious. Duval kept blinking like any moment now he would wake up from a dream. Musketeers young and old regarded the kneeling figure on the ground with a strange sort of respect for a comrade awaiting judgment from their King. Mazarin merely growled deep in his throat.

Queen Anne broke the silence, "I think with what she has done for us these last few months, she should be forgiven, Louis."

The young King stuck his chest out with all of the dignity he could manage. "Yes, of course." He surveyed the group in front of him and used his best kingly proclamation voice. "In light of recent developments, and of her excellent record of services to France, I pardon Jacqueline Roget of any crimes against her."

Jacqueline looked up at her young King with tears in her eyes. She had doubted that this day would ever come. D'Artagnan and René came forward to help her stand up, and she leaned on them gratefully.

René spoke up next, "Sire, I would also like to acknowledge Jacqueline as my daughter, privy to my titles and estate."

King Louis nodded, "She has all the rights of nobility, guaranteed."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," René bowed.

During all of this, Mazarin had started out with a pale face at his capture which turned from red as Jacqueline made her speech to a brilliant shade of magenta as Aramis had claimed her as a daughter.

"This is ridiculous, Your Majesty; I've warned you about these Musketeers. How can you believe these people—they are the ones plotting against you! She's obviously charmed them to do as she pleases; on her orders they would probably kill you right here! You would take the word of a heretic and her disillusioned Musketeer friends over your trusted holy advisor?" Mazarin pressed his hands together in front of him, mimicking a prayer.

"Your Majesty, don't believe him! I told you how he had Claude Roget murdered in cold blood, my brother imprisoned on false charges, and me hiding for my life!" Jacqueline pleaded, standing alone in front of King Louis.

Olivier stepped up behind her and gestured to the stack of books and papers Siroc had carried up. "We found these documents; they obviously belong to him and are real enough if he went to so much trouble to hide them. They indicate that he was plotting against the Crown and the Church."

Duval moved up to support his Musketeer. "I have suspected him of many serious offences. I believe these papers may very well prove his guilt."

What stunned everyone was what Siroc had to say next. He stepped forward, shoulder to shoulder with Jacqueline. "Mazarin was the priest who tried to kill me when I witnessed him raping and murdering my sister, Camilla." Jacqueline felt a sharp pain go though her heart and gripped his hand tightly in comfort.

René found his voice next. "I've had the unfortunate responsibility of knowing this scoundrel for long time, and I can attest to an extensive history of his dark deeds with several documents back home in Spain. I will send for them immediately." He bowed in deference.

"Have you anything to say in your defense Mazarin?" Louis asked, ever a just ruler.

"Sire, I have served you faithfully. Everything I have done has been for France—" the Cardinal pleaded most cowardly.

D'Artagnan broke his sentence with a fury, "Everything you have done was for you and your own gain; you have committed treason against the Crown and done numerous other crimes against God and all of humanity." D'Artagnan appealed to the young King. "What is your decision, Sire?"

Louis, struggling even in the face of such overwhelming testimony, replied with a strong voice, "I sentence Cardinal Mazarin to the Bastille until a full list of his crimes can be compiled to be read at his execution."

----------

A visible sigh of relief went through the room as Mazarin was finally led away by palace guards to the Bastille. The group moved inwards towards Jacqueline.

René was detained from the celebrations by the monarchs. Queen Anne called out to him, "One last thing puzzles me, Aramis: how did you know where to find him?"

"Yes, how?" Louis echoed.

René bowed again deeply. "Your Majesty, there is a little known secret passageway from his chambers to the dungeon below. I remembered it from my old Musketeer days."

Queen Anne leaned closer to her son's ear. "Why Louis, dear, since we seem to have lost our Cardinal, why not reward our protector here with an honor?"

King Louis straightened in his chair. "Aramis—er—Duc d'Alameda, I would like to officially offer you the post of Prime Minister and spiritual advisor to France."

René broke into an unrestrained smile, "It would be my honor to accept your offer, Your Majesty. It will give me a reason to stay near family." He looked back at the exited group behind him. Jacqueline was beaming, giving everyone a jubilant kiss on the cheek, and d'Artagnan stood behind her never taking his eyes from her.

"Today is a happy day," René whispered.


	15. Truth

**15. Truth**

Ramon reached Jacqueline first, pulling her into a brotherly embrace. "I knew it!" he said triumphantly, "I knew we were family when I saw Arcelia's cross. Dios mío, I have a niece!"

Siroc got her next, giving her a slightly awkward hug. "Thank you for listening. I want you to know that you're just like a sister to me."

Away from the crowd, Charles spoke to his son. "So this is the girl?" his tone was slightly amused.

"Yes, and I still do not hold her to the promise," d'Artagnan told him bluntly, on the guard for his father's disapproval.

"You sure know how to pick 'em, my boy," Charles said. "At least we know she can keep you in check; that sword of hers is just as sharp as her mind." When d'Artagnan looked at his father in astonishment, Charles merely patted his son on back. "I'd better go kiss her while I have the chance."

D'Artagnan smiled as his father walked up to Jacqueline and kissed both of her cheeks. She turned a bright red, still not used to the fact that the Legend was a real man of flesh and bone.

René joined d'Artagnan by the wall. "I guess I have you to thank for taking care of my daughter all this time," he began.

"I think it was the other way around, sir," he said honestly. "She takes pretty good care of herself and everyone else." With a moment's hesitation, d'Artagnan spoke again, "Sir, I'd like to ask your permission—"

"Granted," René smiled at him. "I may have only known my daughter for less than a day, but I'm not blind; I see the way she looks at you."

Just then in perfect timing, Jacqueline looked over from Charles to smile at d'Artagnan. "Go get her," René prodded. D'Artagnan did not need to be told twice.

Isaac and Olivier also stood back, reminiscing about the events of the past twenty years over glasses of wine, compliments of the King. "Did you ever think it would turn out this way," Isaac asked.

"Not on my life," Olivier replied. The two Musketeers grinned as they watched young d'Artagnan and Jacqueline sneak out of the room.

"To the next generation of Musketeers!" Isaac toasted, clinking his glass with Olivier's before draining it.

----------

The Queen had granted each of the tired Musketeers a room for the night, the least she could do for them saving her son. Jacqueline led d'Artagnan into her loaned chambers. "Who would have thought this would ever happen?" he asked as the door clicked shut behind them.

"I know!" Jacqueline exclaimed, spinning foolishly around the room with her arms in the air. "Mazarin's taken care of; I'm pardoned; and all of us are like one crazy family."

D'Artagnan put on his roguish grin as he caught her in his arms, wrapping them around her waist. "No, I meant you taking me up to your room."

Jacqueline gave him a sharp look, but it dissolved as she started laughing. She could not stop—the relief at being free of her secrets made her giddy. She threw her arms around his neck and looked up into his eyes as the laughter subsided.

"Remember the last time you saw me in a dress?" she asked innocently.

"Yes, as a matter-of-fact I do recall saving a damsel in distress a couple of days ago," he replied nattily.

Jacqueline bushed a hand through his hair. "I didn't tell you the truth about what I was doing… I wasn't playing dress up; I was meeting someone—"

"A someone male?" d'Artagnan broke in, jealously creeping in to his voice.

"Actually, yes. It was Brother Antoine," she said teasingly, using one hand to reach down and pick the cross off her chest. "I had him researching this." She frowned. "Gerard died for this little piece of jewelry, and I figured that I owed it to him to try and solve its riddle. It worked out strangely, didn't it? I lost the last member of my old family and found a whole new one because of this little scrap of gold."

D'Artagnan leaned down to kiss her, and she did not refuse. He pulled back after a moment. "While we're confessing things and all, I'd like to get something off my chest."

Jacqueline leaned back a little. "What?" she asked suspiciously.

"It's nothing, really; you're going to laugh when I tell you…" d'Artagnan let out a forced laugh.

"Charles Arnaud d'Artagnan!" she said sharply.

"How did you find out my middle name?" he asked, shocked.

"I asked your father. By the way, what sweet irony that your initials spell 'cad,'" Jacqueline explained. "Now stop trying to change the subject, keep talking."

"See, I used Siroc's potion that attracts women…" Jacqueline nodded for him to go on. "And I sort of used it on you, but I did not to take advantage of you; you have to give me that," he cringed at his defense.

"Like you don't get enough attention already, you go after me with a potion?" she practically yelled. "You are a pathetic man, d'Artagnan." She smiled. "But I wouldn't have it any other way. Nothing can spoil this night." She tilted her face up for another kiss.

It was longer before they broke apart this time. "You didn't tell me what you were doing out so late that night I ran into you," Jacqueline declared.

"I was with a woman," he savored the sour look on Jacqueline's face before continuing, "my great aunt. I received a summons to her residence about a family emergency only to find a room full of young, eligible, and rich ladies that kept me late into the evening. She's been trying to marry me off for years; apparently my father didn't share his 'promise' with anyone else.

"Speaking of the promise…" D'Artagnan fished in his pocket and pulled out a ring, holding it up so she could see it.

"Princess Tatiana's fake diamond?" Jacqueline wrinkled her nose.

"I was going to get you my mother's ring, but I was detained from getting there. Besides, that ring symbolized my parent's marriage, and I would never treat you like my father did my mother. This is only until I can get one just for you," d'Artagnan finished.

"A promise ring, then?" Jacqueline asked, eyes looking into his.

"If you'll still have me," d'Artagnan replied sincerely.

"Yes, of course I will," she said gleefully. D'Artagnan slipped the ring on her finger, and she set her hand on his chest to admire it. A mischievous grin spread across her face. "I have always had a thing for men named Charles…"


	16. Epilogue

**16. Epilogue**

Jacqueline stood in front of the full length mirror of her palace suite dressed in her trousers, shirt, and vest, smoothing her hair back into Jacques' usual horsetail. A knock on the door caused her to smile at her reflection. "Come in, d'Artagnan."

He came in with a grin on his face, but it faded when he saw her outfit. "Jacqueline, remember last night? You don't have to pretend anymore."

She turned to face him. "I know, but it's hard to go back after so long. Besides, after seeing the look on Captain Duval's face last night, I think it would be best to face him as 'Jacques' today." With each of these words, she stepped closer, planting a quick kiss on his lips at the end.

D'Artagnan looked down at her beaming face. "Face Duval?" he inquired, eyebrow raised.

"Well," she said, brushing invisible dust off of his jacket, "I'll have to convince him to let me stay in the garrison. The way I see it, very few people know that I am 'Jacques LePonte.' Therefore, I could continue in the Musketeers for awhile. You did say you wanted us to stay close." She looked up at him happily.

"Yes, but I meant I would resign and take you to my estate to get married, not live in the garrison," he protested, a little dazed at her plans. He had thought everything had been settled the previous night.

"I couldn't do that to Duval, take away his best Musketeer," Jacqueline cooed, finally able to use her womanly charm openly on d'Artagnan. "Besides, I am still able to fight for King and country; there are plenty of villainous plots to thwart other than Mazarin's."

She moved over to her bed to pick up the grey jacket she had laid out on it. D'Artagnan woke from his trance enough to take the coat from her hands and hold it up for her to put on. Jacqueline continued as she slid her arms in the sleeves, buttoning the jacket up, "I can spend another year or two in the corps with Duval's blessing. Then we can go off, get married, and all that." She turned to face him.

"That sounds like it would work," d'Artagnan mused, "but wouldn't you rather get hitched sooner and start a family?" He picked up her hand and kissed it, emotion filled eyes staring deep into her own.

Jacqueline steeled herself against the sweet look he gave her. If she couldn't fight this off now, she would never be able to resist him in the future. "Can't I have you to myself for a little bit longer?" she said softly, gazing at him serenely. She really meant it.

The pair looked deep into each other. D'Artagnan thought briefly before answering, "I love you, Jacqueline. Whatever you want, I can wait." She was too precious to him; saying no would only drive her away. He could finally be with her, and that was all that mattered.

Jacqueline kissed him exuberantly. "Thank you," she whispered against his lips. She grabbed her baldric off the chair. "Let's get to it, then."

----------

Jacqueline paced in front of Duval's office door. D'Artagnan watched from a short distance, the smirk on his face showing amusement.

"Captain Duval, I am sorry about the lies; they were necessary to save my brother… No, that's not right… Sir, I wish to request to retain my commission in the Musketeers. No," she spun on her heel for another lap.

"That sounds fine; why don't you just go in now?" d'Artagnan soothed. She had spent the last half hour pacing, and he grew tired of listening to her speeches.

"Not helping, d'Artagnan," she pointed an accusatory finger at him as she walked by.

"Get in here, LePonte. I can hear you," called a gruff voice from the other side of the door. D'Artagnan let out a loud chuckle, and Jacqueline froze, staring at the door like it had grown a head.

"The Captain's waiting…" d'Artagnan strode over to open the door, ushering in the stunned Jacqueline.

Duval sat behind his desk, palms together in front of his chin. "I heard every word you said, Le—ahem—Jacqueline. I hate to give up my best two Musketeers, but I can't say this plan of yours will work."

"Please, sir," Jacqueline begged, moving further into the room, "I don't want to give up just because a few more people know my secret. I can do more good here than in some seaside cottage. Let me stay for another year, at least. Haven't I proved myself, yet?"

"It's not a matter of proving yourself, Jacqueline." Duval struggled to pick out the right words. "I and the others understand your… special circumstances. Nevertheless, we cannot allow your story to escape this little circle of trust. The outside world is not as accepting; our enemies could use you as a sign of France's weakness or the Musketeer's weakness. If someone knows your secret, they could use it against me or d'Artagnan, Ramon, Siroc."

Jacqueline crossed over behind his desk, kneeling beside a surprised Duval. "Captain, let me do this; you will not regret it. You had faith in Jacques—now put your faith in Jacqueline." She bowed her head.

Duval looked up at d'Artagnan who gave an imperceptible nod; he would support his fiancé's request. "All right," the Captain said, "you can stay if you abide by my terms." Jacqueline looked up, eyes shining with unspilled tears. "For God's sake, Private, stand at attention and receive your Captain's orders," he barked.

Jacqueline moved to obey; standing in front of his desk, she replied, "Sir!"

"First off, you will be known as 'Jacques LePonte' whenever you are in uniform. No other Musketeers may know your true identity, or you are out. Secondly," for this Duval shifted his gaze to d'Artagnan, "_he_ is not allowed to be in your room at any time and vice versa. I won't have any of that in my garrison! You will go—in women's clothing—across town if you wish to enjoy each other's company. Thirdly, don't expect any special favors; you are just another Musketeer to me as soon as you leave this room. Do I make myself clear?"

Jacqueline wiped a tear from her eye. "Crystal, sir." She ran forward to give Duval a fierce hug. He patted her back awkwardly and shot d'Artagnan a questioning look over her shoulder. D'Artagnan shrugged back and mouthed, 'Women.'

Jacqueline crossed back over to d'Artagnan and took his hand, staring into his eyes in happiness. Duval cleared his throat. The pair turned to look at him. He inclined his head to point out their joined hands, and they released each other immediately with sheepish grins.

D'Artagnan opened the door for Jacqueline to exit first. Before he shut it, he stuck his head back in. "Thank you, Captain, for everything."

"Don't disappoint me, Private," was his gruff reply.

D'Artagnan knew it was his way of saying, "You're welcome."


End file.
